


You'll Have To Watch Me Struggle (I'll Need You To Stay)

by IllBeYourDetonator



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Trench Era, Vigilante, yellow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 23:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18537625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllBeYourDetonator/pseuds/IllBeYourDetonator
Summary: In which Tyler hates yellow bandannas and Josh is a vigilante with a yellow bandanna.Inspired by Trench and a little bit of Deadpool.





	You'll Have To Watch Me Struggle (I'll Need You To Stay)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: mild non-con  
> Also, yellow bandannas, if you don't like that sort of thing.

THE FIRST TIME TYLER MEETS THE VULTURE

He’s stuck down here.

He doesn’t like the dark, but that doesn’t matter now, as he stands awkwardly in the middle of Central Park, at night, with nothing but the streetlights and buildings and city lights flashing around him, staring up at the dark figure at the top of the West Industries building. The figure is small from afar, and he can’t make out more than a yellow bandanna, or some type of mask around the bottom half of his face, and a yellow cross on his chest, slightly askew. Crossed at the heart. What a fucking metaphor.

He hates metaphors. They make him queasy.

Also, he hates superheroes, but this guy in his stupid yellow mask just beat up some dude trying to rob him, so he’s rethinking this ultimatum right now, if only just a little. And he wants to go up and see who the hell this guy is, but he’s _stuck down here._

He wants to shout up at the guy, and takes a deep breath in order to do so, but the guy in the yellow mask is suddenly gone, in the time it took for him to blink.

He blinks several more times. Looks around. Begins walking back to his apartment.

 

THE SECOND TIME TYLER MEETS THE VULTURE

The guy in the yellow mask was on the news this morning.

They showed footage of him safely landing a helicopter that was on fire, flying out of control, before it could crash into, like, innocent civilians. Or something. He wasn’t really paying attention.

But then they cut to the newscasters talking about how brave and strong and wonderful this guy is, how he has his own vigilante-superhero-dude name, “the Vulture”, whatever the fuck that means, and he turned off the TV.

He takes a shower, and as he’s putting on his shirt, after drying his body thoroughly, the guy in the stupid yellow mask appears in his doorway.

He shouts.

The guy in the stupid yellow mask stares.

He shouts again, this time with words.

“What the fuck.”

The guy in the stupid yellow mask is not actually wearing a mask. He was right the first time. The guy in the stupid yellow mask is actually the guy in the stupid yellow _bandanna._ He has wide, almond shaped eyes that look kind of glossy and brown and maybe not at all brown, he can’t tell, and a black beanie, and that weird yellow tape…? Yes, tape. Weird yellow tape crossing over his heart on his shirt. He stares.

“You’re the guy in the stupid yellow ma- bandanna. The stupid yellow bandanna.” He pauses, thinks. “It’s not actually stupid. I just don’t like it.”

He notices he does not have a shirt on. He yelps. “I don’t have a shirt on.”

The guy in the stupid yellow bandanna shrugs. “I miscalculated,” he says, muffled behind his bandanna. “I thought you would be done drying off by now. You take too long.”

“Maybe you don’t take long enough,” he shoots back. “Who are you.”

“Someone.”

“Oh. I’m Tyler,” says Tyler.

“I’m Josh.”

 

THE FIRST TIME TYLER MEETS JOSH

“I’m Tyler,” says Tyler.

“I’m Josh.”

Josh takes off the bandanna. He is smiling, a wide, crinkly, perfect-toothed smile that Tyler stares at for a few seconds, unable to think.

“ _Such_ a stupid yellow bandanna.”

“Yeah.”

 

THE SECOND TIME TYLER MEETS JOSH

Josh comes around again, this time while Tyler is sleeping. Tyler wakes up to a figure standing in his doorway, perfectly still in a yellow bandanna and his yellow crossed chest. Tyler, not expecting a dark figure to be standing in his doorway in the early hours of morning, before he’d even had his _coffee,_ how despicable, screams a little bit.

“Please don’t kill me.”

Josh is not going to kill Tyler. He realizes this as Josh steps closer and Tyler can make out narrowed almond eyes, radiating indignance. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Josh sits at the foot of Tyler’s bed and pulls down his bandanna. “Tyler, I think you should know. Your version of Netflix is outdated. It won’t let me watch How I Met Your Mother.”

Tyler shudders, remnants of his earlier fear trembling off him, and says sleepily (his chestnut hair is very fluffy and pillow-mussed. Josh enjoys this sight), “They took it off Netflix a while ago.”

“No.”

“We can watch Friends, though. It’s very similar.”

Josh wants to argue, and stares bitterly at Tyler in protest for a few moments, but Tyler’s looking at him with these big doe eyes, and he rubs underneath them with the back of his hand like a sleepy child, and Josh can only say, “Sure.”

That is how Josh, an infamous, dangerous vigilante superhero, and Tyler, a cashier at Target, end up bingeing the first five seasons of Friends on Netflix over the weekend, sitting on the floor of Tyler’s living room like seventh-graders at a slumber party.

Josh only gets up to kill people twice.

 

THE THIRD, FOURTH, FIFTH, AND SIXTH TIME TYLER MEETS JOSH

Josh comes over every weekend after that. They finish Friends. They find all seasons of How I Met Your Mother on some risky site on Tyler’s laptop, that probably has like a hundred viruses now; they watch The Office; Orange Is The New Black; all the available Marvel superhero movies, and unavailable ones, too, on those virus-ridden sites, but Josh is an avid fan of The Winter Soldier (“he is a _villain,_ Josh”; “how dare you, take that back right now, the Winter Soldier is a _victim_ ”); and also, at Tyler’s request: Gossip Girl (“look, Josh, Sebastian Stan”).

Tyler never says anything when Josh leaves to “go to the bathroom” and comes back with his yellow bandanna looped messily around his throat, blood smeared on his clothes and face, and his hands stained red and black. Tyler never says anything when Josh runs out of the room suddenly, in the middle of a conversation sometimes, and doesn’t come back until a week later. Tyler never says anything when the news comes on, broadcasting footage of the Vulture, and Josh calmly changes the channel.

He wants to say something.

But he doesn’t.

 

THE THIRD TIME TYLER MEETS THE VULTURE

Tyler is walking down the street, hating yellow bandannas and almond eyes, when he is slammed into by something heavy and black, and he finds himself in a back alley, pressed against the wall by this heavy and black thing. A man with a mask, and Tyler fucking hates masks, and the man narrows cold blue eyes at him and jabs him with the barrel of a gun.

Tyler does not cry.

He does not cry.

(He cries a little).

The man shoves his fingers in Tyler’s mouth, and with the other hand digs around his Tyler’s jean pockets. “Cash, anything, pathetic. You poor or something?” Tyler thinks the man’s breath smells like a dead raccoon at the bottom of a dumpster, even through the mask. “Or just stupid?”

Tyler chokes on the man’s fingers, shuddering and gasping and no, no, he’s not crying.

“Nothing! Fucking nothing!” The man wraps his hands around Tyler’s ass, squeezes. “Maybe not nothing.”

Tyler cries.

The pressure disappears, and there is the cement, suddenly, rushing up, and Tyler collapses in a little heap, shaking, gasping, sniffling softly. He doesn’t want to look up, but he does.

The man is a kabob.

His hulking form is skewered on a long, curved sword, like a wicked smile. Embedded in the brick alley wall. Blood drips onto the cement besides Tyler, pooling in a thick red puddle that reflects something yellow.

Tyler pushes himself onto all fours. Raises his gaze to his savior.

Almond eyes shift from wild rage to something softer, sadder. He doesn’t push down the bandanna. Behind his shoulders is the hilt of another curved sword, peeking out. He is silent.

Tyler wants to yell, wants to scream at this murder, this killer, who looked at him across his sofa with those same almond eyes, crinkled in amusement, that are now watching him with that stupid sad gaze. He wants to punch him, rage at him.

Tyler whimpers.

The Vulture kneels down and lifts Tyler into his arms. Tyler struggles, twists, but he’s helpless, and eventually he just goes limp, seething with anger as he listens to the Vulture’s heart beat right by his ear.

 

THE SEVENTH TIME TYLER MEETS JOSH

He’s so angry.

He knew this is what Josh did, this is his life, but it’s one thing to see signs of it a few nights a week than watching it in action two feet away. He was in danger, he knows that. He was probably going to be raped, and then beaten, and then left for dead in that alley, but there’s some irrational part of him that screams in his mind about murder and killers and stupid fucking bandannas.

(They sound like bananas and he fucking hates bananas.)

Josh takes off his bandanna after laying Tyler gently down on his bed. Tyler does not want to ask how Josh knows how to get into his apartment, he stopped thinking about it after the third time. Tyler isn’t hurt, he just has a sore throat from the man’s fingers and, he doesn’t know, _broken trust,_ and _fear of the killer standing above his bed._ But you know, that’s it.

Josh raises a hand, blinks at Tyler’s flinch. He rests his hand lightly on Tyler’s exposed throat, watching as Tyler swallows, starts to shake. He doesn’t want Tyler to cry. He kisses Tyler softly on the forehead. “Don’t cry, puff. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

Tyler gasps out, eyes wet. “Don’t hurt me.”

“What,” Josh’s face falls. “I could never hurt you. You’re my friend.”

Tyler nods, squeezes his eyes shut. He reaches out, pleadingly, and Josh wraps strong arms around Tyler’s slender form. He feels safe, warm, and he’s scared suddenly, of leaving the safety of Josh’s arms, of being forced into doing something he doesn’t want, of trying not to cry in an alley full of danger, and he hates his weakness, hates his helplessness, but Josh is.

Josh is. _Here._

Tyler whines, pressing his face into Josh’s shoulder. He feels Josh speak, the steady rumble, the soft breath brushing by his ear. “Tell me what you want, Tyler. Tell me what you need.”

“Protect me, protect me. Please please please.”

“Always.”

 

THE LAST TIME TYLER MEETS THE VULTURE

Josh has moved in, as much as someone like Josh can.

He has his own toothbrush now, and his pillow right next to Tyler’s, and he uses Tyler’s closet to hang up his infamous yellow-crossed shirt and bandanna. He binges Netflix with Tyler every night now, and when Tyler falls asleep on the sofa he doesn’t wake up the next morning there all alone, because Josh carries him to his bed and spoons him right there, all night. He wakes up to Josh making the best pancakes any vigilante superhero has ever made, and Tyler can get used to this, you know.

Of course, he still runs out without warning sometimes, or “uses the bathroom”, code for killing bad guys. He stills switches channels every time a news station is talking about him. But things are different. If he gets harmed, he comes home and Tyler patches up the wounds until they ultimately heal, usually within the hour. If Tyler has a nightmare, he stays with him all night, without leaving in the middle to go kill someone. Tyler could also get used to this.

But then there’s a plane, and a crash, and an army of evil soldiers out to end the world, and Josh leaves him.

For two years.

For two years, Tyler waits in his empty house, watching every news channel for any sign, any mention of a man in a yellow bandanna, or mask, or whatever the _fuck_ it is; for two years Tyler cries in his bed at night either because of nightmares or fear or just the loss of his friend, drowning in this pain and horror and shock, that this could really be it, he might now see Josh ever again.

For two years, Tyler waits.

And then for the last time, Tyler meets the Vulture.

Tyler is flying to New York City. He’s written a song, he’s written a whole motherfucking album, and it’s all about Josh, and now some fancy dude in a suit wants to make money off him. That’s okay. He doesn’t really care either way.

And then the plane is dipping, gently, like a swan curving over the water, and it reminds him horribly of that awful day in September, two years ago, and then everything is falling.

He’s never been so terrified.

He is going to die.

He wants to be okay with this, too, but the truth is he’s not. He’ll be with Josh, though, assuming killers and cashiers at Target make it to the same place in the afterlife, or maybe Josh is still out there, looking for him, and now he’s fucking dying and goddamnit, Tyler, not cool.

He thinks of Josh as he’s falling.

He thinks of Josh so much that he sees yellow and crosses and a yellow cloth wrapped around a knee, yellow, yellow, yellow, and of course, red, so much red. It’s not very pretty. But Josh would look good in red. Bright red. Like this color, smeared on his hands.

On his chest. Bubbling in his lungs.

But maybe if he ran his fingers through Josh’s hair, streaked the short dark hairs with red.

So pretty.

Josh is so pretty.

“Thank you.”

Tyler wants to say he’s welcome, but he’s having trouble talking. He makes a sound, small and scared, and familiar arms come around him, too tight, ow, ow, but he’s suddenly _safe._ “Protect me,” he says. “Protect me, please.”

He doesn’t know if it comes out right. He’s having trouble hearing, too.

_“I’m sorry, Tyler. I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I’ll protect you.”_

He thinks this is very nice, but would they please let him rest in these nice arms, no, no, don’t take me away, I want to stay with him, please, please.

Sirens wail. Shadows scream. And he’s alone.

 

THE LAST TIME TYLER MEETS JOSH

Tyler opens his eyes to yellow.

It’s not a pretty color. It’s supposed to be white.

The ceiling glares at him, and Tyler turns his face away. There’s a person in his line of sight, next to the hospital bed. A person he wished for for two years. And now he wishes. “Go away, leave me alone.”

He can’t speak right, and it comes out, _“Josh.”_

Josh’s almond eyes are darker, his hair longer, soft and black and downy like crow feathers. He smiles sadly at Tyler, like his heart is right there, and it’s broken. Tyler wants to cry. (He doesn’t).

“Tyler.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Tyler is crying, his slender form quivering where he lays on the bed, as he gasps, “Why.”

Josh is breaking inside, but his armor is a lot stronger than Tyler’s, and a lot more tested, so he says, “I died. I died, and I woke up, but I couldn’t remember anything. I was lost, and I was angry, and I hurt a lot of people. But I always remembered you. I just could never remember how to find you.”

Tyler stares, breathing heavily on his back, face turned towards Josh. Josh swallows. “I didn’t know you were in that plane. I almost didn’t save it, I had given up by then. But I did anyway, and I saw you, I knew you. I. I saved you.”

Tyler reaches. Josh presses his forehead against Tyler’s, breathes in.

“I love you.”

Tyler is having trouble speaking, so he says, “I love you, too.”

But then someone tries to tell Josh to go wait out in the lobby, and Tyler shouts, “No, he’s fucking not”, and maybe he’s not having trouble speaking after all.

…

And after that, he never has to meet Josh again, because Josh will always be there.

**Author's Note:**

> Will consider writing another fic about what happened to Josh with the plane, and the crash, and the army of evil soldiers out to end the world. Possibly.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
